


Dirty South Love

by melanie1982



Category: NKOTB - Fandom, New Kids On The Block
Genre: 1860s, AU, F/M, holdongirl, oldfic, whyamidoingthis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 01:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: I'm going through all my old offline fics, deciding which ones to post, which ones to re-work, and which ones to get rid of. This is one of the fics I wrote for a friend about ten years ago, back when she and I were swapping fics through snail mail. (Remember snail mail, kids? Lol). She used to write Donnie fics for me, and I'd write Jon fics for her. Ahhh, memories :)I've changed her name in the fic, for privacy reasons (nice of me, huh?).I'm planning on posting at least one other fanfic from my snail mail days, if for nothing else than to document my questionable talents for fandom posterity. Here it is, for what it's worth...Set in 1860s Georgia. I'm not a history buff, and I did minimal research for this, so.. *posts road sign stating POSSIBLE ANACHRONISMS AHEAD*





	1. Chapter 1

Jon and Margaret seemed like any other farming couple in 1866 Georgia; they worked hard, went to church, and basically lived a quiet life. On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about them at all - but things aren't always what they seem...

Margaret had not chosen to come to Georgia; her family had sent her for her own safety. Back home in Maryland during the war, her family had been implicated in harboring runaway slaves, so rather than see her succumb to the repercussions, legal or otherwise, Margaret had been spirited away. As a consequence of her flight, and to safeguard whatever safety Margaret or her family might have left, there could be no contact with one any of them, including her ex-fiancée. Starting over in a new state with a new identity was stressful enough, but being married to a man like Jonathan made life even more difficult and, well, confusing.

Margaret missed the beach, the family excursions to Virginia every Christmas to see relatives, and the close-knit community of which she had once been a part. Other than church and bare-bones supply runs, Jonathan preferred the two of them to interact with people as little as possible, keeping her close to home as he went out alone. At first, Margaret had wondered if that was out of consideration for her safety and to spare awkward questions about his wife's past, but it soon became apparent that it was Jonathan's normal way of life. Having a wife wasn't going to change his habits.

Margaret wasn't entirely sure how her father knew Jonathan Rashleigh Knight; all she'd been told was that the match would be a way of ensuring her a fresh start while helping her husband financially. The feeling of being traded or sold was not entirely pleasant, but her prior betrothal hadn't exactly been a love match, either, and anyway, there was nothing she could do about any of it now. Unbeknownst to Margaret, her husband's family had become a wealthy landowner due to her paternal grandfather's loan to Jonathan Sr years before, well before the Knights had settled in Georgia. From what she could discern about him, Margaret sensed Jonathan was a shrewd businessman, but she would never have guessed that his taking her to wife was the quickest way to repay his family's debt. A farmer needed a wife, and since Jonathan was a man of little demonstrable emotion, accepting a wife sight unseen was no less ridiculous to him than the idea of searching for a soulmate. 

At 32, Jonathan was thirteen years her senior, and well past the normal age for a man, particularly a man of means, to take a wife. The townsfolk had often marveled, not always kindly, at the man's reluctance to take a wife, and were even more astonished by his sudden change of heart. All sorts of rumors had sprung up surrounding the extremely rapid and secretive wedding arrangements, but Jon didn't care one whit, so long as none of the rumors came anywhere near the truth.

Margaret had a quiet, introspective spirit which suited her new life as the spouse of a man of few words. She worked willingly with her hands, always ready to try a new skill, and Jonathan admired her natural intelligence, tempered by the naivete which came with a sheltered upbringing. Their life together was.. pleasant, if bland. His work at home and in the town demanded most of his energies, and Margaret was left to her own devices much of the time. If she was lonely, she didn't complain, and Jonathan preferred to believe that his wife was happier on her own than in his company.

Life ticked along in a holding pattern until the night of the storm. As the owner of a small furniture store situated on the main street, Jon had ridden into town early one evening to board up the windows and protect his investment. On the return trip, the winds had whipped and beaten his skin til it was raw; Jon had been soaked to the bone by the time he reached home, yet had insisted on rounding up all of the horses from pasture and into the safety of the stable.

To be truthful, Jon had felt fatigued for a week prior, but had pressed on, refusing to slow down. Now his body had had enough, and his young bride watched in horror as his legs gave out and refused to move. Margaret had rushed to him, dragging him inside as best she could. Miss Jessa, Jon's housekeeper and only remaining member of household staff, helped Margaret nurse him back to health, but his progress was slow.

In his delirium, Jon had lashed out more than once. He dreamt of the war which had claimed his brother's life; he dreamt of the armed bands of slave hunters and any number of spectrous terrors. He came close to striking Margaret in his confusion, yet she tended to him with such loving care. Gradually the fever broke, and he regained most of his reason; however, the illness seemed to have weakened his vision, and no one was sure if or when this would correct itself.

Margaret now had extra chores, including grazing the horses, dealing with customers in the shop, and reading over the accounts at home. Jon was amazed at her quick learning, remembering his youthful folly when he was her age, when money and independence seemed more important than education. Had he wasted those years chasing a life of solitude and wealth, when really he needed companionship and comfort?

Jon noticed a softness to her now; perhaps it was her role as nurse, or perhaps it had always been there.. He found himself looking forward more and more to their time together, when her chores were done and Miss Jessa had gone to her room for the night. Margaret could not express what she felt, nor was she quite sure it was wise to try; but Jon began to sense a change in the way she looked at him, a level of caring which went beyond duty - and it both thrilled and terrified him.

He had loved once before, as a much younger man, but the woman in question had spurned his proposal. Jon wasn't one to believe in destiny, but the possibility that all of his past experiences had led him to this moment became increasingly difficult to ignore. Margaret was so different to the high-society belle he had once courted, not only in breeding, but in moral character. Perhaps he had been blinded by vanity, the idea of possessing the fair Clara, and of marrying into such a grand, old-money family. Margaret came to him with few possessions, but her humility was an asset to him. She looked up to him, rather than down on him, and that was far better, far more agreeable. What if Clara's rejection was a blessing in disguise? 

Margaret hadn't known what to expect of married life. Her brief broken engagement had been such a rushed affair, her mother hadn't yet spoken to her about what was expected of a wife. Truthfully, being the youngest child, Margaret had been sheltered to a greater extent than her siblings, and she often wondered if she would ever truly have escaped from her mother's apron-strings were it not for her need to be sent away. No one had bothered to educate her in what, precisely, men and women did behind closed doors, although she'd heard an older brother making a joke about their prize bull and one of the dairy cows.. Still, she was quite sure whatever secret activities went on, she had yet to experience any of it. Jon now spoke more kindly to her, and he had Miss Jessa play the harpsichord and teach Margaret a few simple tunes to pass the time, but there was a restlessness in her body and in her heart which no amount of hard work seemed able to quell, some need which did not have a name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Jeans weren't 'invented' or marketed in the US until 1872, but I needed this story to be set a little closer to the Civil War, so.. yeah. Also, I couldn't find any evidence of a pair of jeans being in a catalogue that early, although a few catalogues existed at the time. Just go with it, lol

Three months had passed since the storm, and in that time, Margaret had harvested over half of the crops, with Jessa to help. Her husband wouldn't allow her to be in the fields after dark, so that was when he took over, although Margaret wondered if he was merely ashamed for her to see him struggle. With Jessa's help, Margaret had sold the excess and helped put up what the homestead would need for the coming winter (although Jon had insisted on depositing the proceeds in the bank himself). Jessa explained this was for her safety, but it still stung a little. Overall, Jon had been grateful for her hard work, but he longed for a day when he would be able to do everything himself once more. As his thrity third birthday approached, Margaret resolved to do something to cheer him up and show him how much she cared for him.

Miss Jessa observed her employer admiring something in a catalogue - a new type of men's garment known as 'jeans.' They were marketed to railway workers, but Jon wasn't one to concern himself with popular opinion; they seemed ideally suited for any hard labor, and that was what mattered to him. Margaret resolved to buy him a pair as a surprise, and with only a few weeks to go, she had finally saved enough from her seamstress work (over which a nervous Jessa had been sworn to secrecy) to order the gift. When the package arrived, she felt her heart would burst with pride, anticipating his reaction when he opened his gift. Perhaps this would be the beginning of a new level of understanding and kinship between them. Jon's gait had not fully recovered, but he spent most of his time resting. It was for this reason that, upon arriving home from retrieving her package, Margaret became alarmed; Jonathan was not in his room, and the bed was freshly made. He was not in the day-room, nor in the kitchen, and panic began to rise within her. She dashed outside, dreading the sight of the doctor's carriage, with Jon laid out on a cooling board and covered in a shroud; there was no one in the yard, either. Racing to the back of the house, Margaret caught sight of Jessa leading the oldest, slowest horse, Buttermilk - and, sitting astride him as noble as any prince, there was Jon. Margaret felt foolish, swiping at tears of joy at the sight of her husband looking so well, and as he noticed the evidence of emotion streaking her cheeks, he felt a quickening in his chest.

Jessa helped him dismount, and he walked towards Margaret with minimal support. For the first time in months, Margaret felt that perhaps everything would run as smoothly as it had before. That was what she wanted - what they both wanted - wasn't it? Upon reaching his wife, Jon stood, letting her see that it was real, that he was almost entirely better. He allowed her to embrace him, unsure of how to respond. Margaret thought she felt a hand caress her hair, but decided later that it had been mere fancy.

At last his birthday had arrived. Margaret presented him the gift in plain brown paper bound with string, and he opened it with silent puzzlement. Upon seeing the contents, however, Jon was struck by how thoughtful she had been. 

"Thank you, Margaret, " he managed. It wasn't very expressive, but it was sincere, and it was a start.

Jessa hoped and prayed that the marriage-in-name would grow into something more with time, although she was beginning to lose hope. The reaction to the gift was a glimmer of promise, and seemed to bolster each spouse's self-confidence.

A week later, Margaret stepped outside to fetch water to help Jessa in the kitchen, only to spot her husband just visible in the open barn, baling hay in his new jeans.

His back was to the open door as she entered, and he apparently had not heard her approach, for he did not turn around, nor pause in his work. Margaret froze in her tracks at the sight of him.

His jeans were fitted perfectly, tight but with just enough give to allow him freedom of movement. The blue of the denim contrasted sharply with the sun-bleached white of his cotton undershirt, which clung to his back with honest sweat. She watched him work, watched the muscles of his back and shoulders undulate as he moved. Jon moved a few paces to the left to retrieve a tin cup, draining it at a swallow before turning to walk outside to the water pump. As he turned, he met her gaze, and her hungry, possessive stare began to register in his mind.

His body was healed, but his mind was making one stubborn last stand. He was doomed, a lone scout surrounded by enemy troops, and yet his could not lay down his arms in sweet surrender. Jon nodded in acknowledgement of her, but passed by without a word. This was too much to bear; Margaret made up her mind that either she was to be a wife in every sense, or he was going to have to send her away. 

"Let me fetch your water," she offered, and Jon conceded, handing her the cup. She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the pump.

Over-vigorous pumping meant that the water continued to gush forcefully out after the cup had been filled. Margaret's heavy dress, too much for outdoor work, began to feel constrictive, and the woman decided to play upon the world's beloved characterization of women as weak and helpless. Jon watched in horror as his wife fell to the ground in a heap of ruffled skirts, feigning a swoon. The man rushed to her side, but by the time he reached her, she was on the ground, eyes closed as if in a dead faint. Jon cradled her head, placing her face beneath the pump, then splashing water onto her reddened face and chest. Margaret did not open her eyes, and he called her name, leaning close to her face to check her breathing. As he leaned in, she kissed him softly, sending him reeling in shock which threatened to turn to anger.

Margaret acted fast, pulling at the bodice of her dress, which by now was wet through. She was blushing madly, but her plan was now in motion, and she sensed it was working. Jon couldn't look away as the tight laces gave way, his eyes drawn to her breasts. "Wh- what are you doing?," he foolishly asked. Margaret shrugged.

"My dress is making me overheat." She gave her back to the spray, soaking herself even more. "Oh, dear. Now I shall HAVE to take this off." Margaret began to pull her arms from her sleeves, when Jon seized her by the shoulders.

"Have you lost all your senses?! We're outside! You can't.." He couldn't even get the words out.

"So, help me to the barn," she managed, sounding nonchalant when she felt anything but. Jon, dazed, led her the several yards to the barn, the water now forgotten, the pump now silent. No sooner had they passed the threshold than Jon felt Margaret's hand on the flat of his stomach. His dick jerked beneath his jeans, and he fought back a groan.  
Who was this mad woman, and what had happened to his chaste, quiet wife?

"Am I not yours?," she whispered, struggling to look up at him, wondering at how she must seem in that moment.

"You are. You know that I care for you, and I would never deny anything you need, if it is in my power to give it.." Jon was faltering, trying to come up with some way to excuse himself from THIS, the one thing he wasn't prepared to give. 

Margaret rested her hand over his heart. "And this? Is this in your power to give to me?" When he hesitated, she continued. "In this moment, I give you my heart. If you won't have me as your wife - your true wife, body and soul - then send me away."

He realized how cruel and selfish he had been to deny her for so long. She was a sight; her wet hair a tangle, her dress now muddy, her face expectant - and his last resolve melted away. 

"Yes. I will have you. I will give you.. everything in my power to give.."

He kissed her then, hard, crushing her to him before remembering her inexperience. She yielded to him, offering her mouth, her hands, her whole self. Jon fed on her lips, tugged on them with his teeth, caressed them with his tongue.. Margaret felt dizzy again, but she held tight to him, loving the feel of his solid body so close to hers. He walked her backwards towards the loose hay, letting her half-stumble, half-recline. 

"Margaret.."

"Please call me Meg, or Maggie. It's.. less formal."

To ask at such a time as this!, he thought, but simply acquiesced. "Yes. Maggie.. My Maggie.."

Her breath came in short bursts as Jon kissed along her neck, his hands fumbling with the remainder of her clothes. Yards of fabric were keeping them apart, and Jon began to rip at the offending garment, the material finally giving way under his rough grip. These were the curves of her, hidden from him from so long, and Jon took his time, allowing his calloused fingers to tease her breasts, making her mewl and squirm with impatience. Jon smiled at the memory of his first time, when eagerness had overpowered inexperience. He needed this woman; Gd, he needed to plant his aching rod between her milky thighs - but was mindful that this first encounter would set the tone for future experiences, and that Margaret would always remember it in vivid detail.

His mouth forged a hot trail to her chest as his fingers traced the length of her arms, from her shoulders to her palms, swirling patterns over the delicate flesh. Maggie was whimpering as he tasted each breast, sweeping his lips and tongue over each nipple, burying his face in the hollow of her cleavage as her hands raked through his jet-black hair, now flecked with tiny pieces of fresh hay as her body writhed beneath him. She was stripped to the waist, but her thick skirts were impeding friction. 

"Jon.. please.."

She wasn't even sure what, exactly, she needed; she only knew that it must be wonderful, judging by her hunger for it. Jon began to burrow beneath the dress, but it was hopeless; this, too, would have to be torn away. He gritted his teeth, feeling the stitches give from the hem upwards, until at last he was able to cast the fabric from her, like throwing off a blanket. She gasped at the shock of being totally exposed to him. 

Jon belatedly removed her shoes and beheld her naked glory, tracing every peak and valley with his eyes. He memorized her: the curve of her hip; the join of her thighs; the swell of her mound beneath the coarse hair which was a shade darker than the hair on her head. It was that last part of her which spoke to him, seducing him with its perfume. He moved down, parting her thighs, his fingers dipping inside to find the pleasure spots she'd yet to discover. He was gentle and teasing at first, but he couldn't stop, pushing her til she was breathless and frantic. His kisses were more demanding now, and when they combined with the work of his hand, Maggie felt tension building inside of her. She didn't know he was preparing her, stretching her as a kindness, getting her wet for him. There was a slight sting, but the pleasure drowned it out.

Just as Maggie felt she must surely die, Jon moved lower, kissing from her breasts to her stomach and then lower still, one hand parting her drenched curls as he latched onto her clit with his greedy mouth. Maggie cried out, overwhelmed by sensation as every nerve ending in her body came to life in an instant. She called his name, over and over, as he licked her to delirium. Maggie's cries of desperation made him show mercy, and Jon sent her over the edge, hoping it would be enough to dull the pain to come.

He held her for a few moments, just letting her breathe. "It's alright," he soothed. "That's supposed to happen. I should've told you.." Jon shook his head, wondering what on earth mothers filled their daughters' heads with, sad for the lack of knowledge of women everywhere. His wife would not be so disadvantaged; he planned to teach her all there was to know about the art of love. Maggie, pleased as she was, felt there was still something more to come, her body still humming with need.

"Now, my love," Jon said, undressing, peeling away the sweat-soaked clothes, "will you have me - all of me?"

Maggie watched with wide, dreamy eyes as the jeans hit the floor, and she got her first glimpse of a naked man. He had muscle rather than curves, and dark coarse hair like hers.. but beneath the thick curls was.. was.. she didn't know. Whatever it was called, it was straight and proud and pointing towards her, one bead of fluid glistening at the tip.

Jon positioned himself over her, and she reached out a hand to stroke his length, getting a feel for him. He sighed, his cock jerking at her touch. "There will be time enough for you to learn about my body - but for now, my love.." He took himself in hand, guiding his crown over her velvet folds, pushing in little by little. Maggie felt one, sharp pang as he pushed all the way in, but as he began to move, she forgot the pain.

This was heaven, him being inside of her, trembling on the brink of losing control. She felt how her softness enveloped his hardness, how they fit together just so. She heard him breathing harder, his eyes closing for a few moments as the feelings flooded his being. Maggie kissed him, urging him on, burning him into her memory. She couldn't get enough of his face, his voice, his body.. Jon knew he wouldn't last much longer; she was so tight, so sweet, and it had been so long for him..

He whispered, haltingly explaining that he needed to feel what she had felt. Maggie encouraged him, wanting to make her husband feel that same rush he had created in her. Jon thrusted hard, again and again, rocking her hips upward; she heard him groaning, felt him gripping her tight - and then he cried out, sending heat into her, pulsing on and on until his eyes closed in ecstasy. Maggie felt powerful, knowing SHE had made him feel this way. He collaspsed onto her, burying his face in her neck as he gasped for air.

They lay in the stillness; nothing existed outside of this moment. At last, Jon suggested that they should go back to the house.

Maggie giggled. "Dressed like this?"

Jon laughed, too. "Let me see what I can find.."

In the far corner on a hook was his riding cap, and this he wrapped around her, tying it beneath her chin before pulling the hood up over her hay-strewn hair. 

Surveying her new look, Maggie protested, "I can't walk into the house in just this!"

Jon considered for a moment. "Then I shall have to carry you over the threshhold," Jon said softly, scooping her up and doing exactly that.

\- The End


End file.
